Jigsaw
by Giacinta2
Summary: Chapter one:- Sam thinks back to what his life has been. Chapter two:- Dean eavesdrops outside the door. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Sam.

::::::::::::::::::::

Sam absent-mindedly stroked the horned charm, its angles worn smooth by the passage of time.  
Bobby had told him it was old, bordering on antique when he'd given it to Sam back then, a penniless child desperate to give his father a gift at Christmas.

He'd been nine, still unsure of what was playing out around him, but aware that something was.

Well, he hadn't needed to wait much longer to find out. That particular Christmas had been sculpted in his memory for more reasons than one!  
What he remembered most though were the tears, crying himself to sleep while a young Dean looked on distraught, unable to deny the truth, that the monsters in Dad's journal were real and John hunted them.

That Christmas, Sam lost his innocence, taking the first step on the road to what he was now—-And what was that? Sam asked himself tiredly, fingering the leather thread as if it were a rosary without beads-a hunter; a killer; a liar; a thief; a spell-caster; an occultist; Lucifer's perfect vessel?  
Certainly nothing of which he could be proud.  
:

As fate would have it, John didn't show up that Xmas and the amulet ended up around his big brother's neck, never to leave it until the day it was dropped into the trash by Dean himself, only to be fished out a second later by the younger Winchester, to be hidden away, out of sight from the gaze of his older sibling who had once cherished it lovingly next to his heart.

:

Dean had been so angry after their trip to heaven, too hurt to consider that they might have been set up by the winged ass-holes; that their memories could conceivably have been tampered with, especially Sam's, chosen on purpose to provoke his big brother and separate the two Winchesters.  
Divide and conquer, so they say!  
:

:  
Sam hadn't blamed Dean, still didn't.

Everything had been complicated back then, Hell, Ruby, the demon blood, Lucifer, Michael, all contributing to freak out both Winchesters, preventing them from seeing the big picture.

With a sigh, Sam reached for the worn handkerchief in which he kept the amulet.  
He'd been tempted more than once to offer it to his brother, but each time some crisis had cropped up and it had never happened.

Now the younger Winchester had given up.  
Too much time had passed, they were no longer the boys they'd been.  
Dean was nearly thirty-five, and Sam couldn't imagine his elder brother putting the kitschy amulet back around his neck now.

No, it was part of their history, like the few remaining sepia-coloured photos, testimony of what they once were, of the family they'd been, of the few years of normality Dean had lived, and which Sam had never known.

Maybe if, by some weird twist of fate, they both survived to grow old and the memories had lost their edge, he'd pull out the ugly charm and give it back to Dean; and over a cool beer they'd reminisce about how naïve they'd once been.

He opened the little drawer set into the bedside table, stashed the bundle right at the back behind a variety of pens and note-pads, grabbed his book and began to read.

The end


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two:- Dean.

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Dean finished tidying up the kitchen, still a little surprised by this domestic streak he hadn't known he possessed until he'd inherited a kitchen to call his own.

:

Cooking soothed him, not to mention how much he enjoyed surprising his awed little brother with his recipes.  
He dimmed the lights and padded down the corridor towards his bedroom, stockinged feet noiseless even in the oppressive silence of the bunker.

:

A light was still on in Sam's room, the yellow glow pooling into the corridor.  
They always left their doors open, memory of nights passed in motel rooms, their bodies inches apart, each reassured by the physical presence of the other.

Here they were safe enough, the bunker was warded against everything, yet the need to know their brother was only an open door away was as instinctual as breathing.

:

Dean threw in a quick glance, hesitating when he saw Sam dangling the amulet between his fingers.  
He swallowed down the lump that came to his throat.  
It wasn't the first time he'd seen his little brother handling it, though he'd never let on, never said he'd discovered Sam's secret.

He didn't blame Sam for fishing it out of the trash-can. Hell, if the situation had been reversed, he'd probably have done exactly the same.

But in a way Dean was happy Sam hadn't offered it to him, for he wasn't sure what to say.

He'd been angry back then, desirous to pay Sam back for the memories he'd witnessed, none of which had included Dean.  
He wasn't going to deny the hurt, but that was then.

Now he understood exactly how they'd both been played, Dean given over as a toy-boy for the douche-bag angels and Sam manoeuvred by the demons, Ruby and Lilith.

:

Dean knew Sam still felt guilty for letting Ruby into his head, listening to her lies, falling for the assurances that drinking her blood would be the answer the grieving little brother needed to take out Lilith and get revenge for his sibling.

Dean had forgiven Sam long ago, putting it into words over Rufus' grave. He'd meant every word back then and he still did.

After all, who was he to judge?  
The angels had used him too, callously leaving him to rot in hell until he could no longer stand the torture and had begun inflicting pain himself, in so doing, breaking the first and most important seal, just as Sam had been tricked into breaking the last.  
The ass-holes had calmly bided their time, waiting for Dean to fall before sending in a rescue team.  
:

He hovered in the darkness outside the door, watching as Sam stored the necklace away.

He was tempted to go in, to reassure his baby brother that he loved him, amulet or not, but Dean had never been good with broadcasting his emotions, though with Sam he usually didn't have to.

:  
Their eyes were the medium they preferred to express their feelings, interpreting correctly each blink, eye-roll, stare or glance as if it were an entire speech.  
Neither needed words to confirm that there was no being, living or dead, they loved more than their brother.

:

Sam picked up a book and began reading, giving Dean the opportunity to shuffle noisily and stroll into the room.  
"G'night Sammy."  
Sam smiled up at him. "Night, Dean."

Dean nodded and began to turn away, then halted.  
"Dude, you remember that time at Rufus' grave?"

Sam shrugged, averting his eyes. "Yeah, I suppose. What brought that on?"  
"Remember what I said back then?"  
"Um..."  
"Come on, Sam. Do you remember or not?"

"Yeah," Sam finally admitted, his cheeks taking on a faint flush.  
"Then tell me."

"You gave a blanket apology for all that had gone down before."

Dean tilted his head, his eyes reinforcing his words.  
"Well, you just hold that thought, bro, 'cos even if at times you might have cause to believe the opposite, for me those words hold as true now as they did then."

He exited the room, leaving Sam to stare at the empty doorway, his heart lighter. And when sleep came it was deep and dreamless.

The end


End file.
